Remember when we were kids, and our parents were soooooo oooooooold? I couldn’t IMAGINE even being as old as thirty! And my grandparents? Forget about it! I mean, they were in their sixties (I guess), and it was like they already had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel!

Then one day I realized that the “oldies station” was playing “my” music now.

And I found my first gray hair.

And my own kid started thinking of me as “old.” Me!

These days, I’ve come to realize that the parents weren’t old back then – and not just because I’m older now than they were then, either!

I realize this now, I’m afraid, because I’m starting to see some very definite signs of age, both in my own parents and in my husband’s mother.

A few years ago, I noticed how frustrated my father got when he couldn’t easily turn a wrench – he just didn’t have the strength in his hands anymore to unstick that stubborn pipe. And these days, after a lifetime as a mechanic, working in auto shops, his hearing isn’t what it once was, either.

I realized, after not having seen my parents for a while, that my mother’s dark hair was actually not dark anymore. When did that happen?

And then there’s my mother-in-law. Having only met my husband about twenty years ago (“only” twenty years!), I never knew his mother in her prime. But what I’m seeing now is a frail old lady, one who is afraid of falling, is too tired to care for herself and her home, and who has spent far more time with doctors and in hospitals lately than I ever want to do.

Sure, I do what I can now to keep myself hale and hearty – I quit smoking many years ago, I eat right, I walk the dog before I head for the gym every morning, and I’ve even been running some of those mornings, heaven help me.

Yet time marches on, and, frankly, I’m not getting any younger.

Ain’t gonna need this house no longer
Ain’t gonna need this house no more
Ain’t got time to fix the shingles
Ain’t got time to fix the floor
Ain’t got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the window pane
Ain’t gonna need this house no longer
I’m getting ready to meet the saints

This song came up on my “gym playlist” the other day, and, you know, I realized that “This Old House” isn’t really about an actual house. I’m pretty it’s more about “getting ready to meet the saints,” isn’t it?

I figure I’ll start riding around, maybe even without a helmet, and I’ll just let nature take its course.

It’s got to be better than lingering, right?

Categories: aging family humor

Tagged as: aging family old's cool

kristinebryant